Life at The Edge of Chaos
by winterskiesautumnleaves
Summary: Doctors Winchester, Castiel Malcolm, and Charlie Grant have been selected as investors for Jurassic World for one reason only. Convenience. With the option of blackmail easily at their fingerprints, Ingen and it's new CEO drag onto the island the only people who can't escape- the predecessors of the original investors. It was time for debt to be paid- whether it in blood, or money.
1. Chapter 1

"In the conservative region far from the chaotic edge, individual elements coalesce slowly, showing no clear pattern."

-Ian Malcolm

FOURTEEN YEARS AFTER  
THE EVENTS OF JURASSIC PARK;  
EVENTS HAVE BEEN HUSHED  
ONLY THE MEMORIES  
OF SURVIVING VICTIMS REMAIN:  
THREE YEARS BEFORE THE OPENING OF JURASSIC WORLD  
-

Castiel Malcolm was a tall man, with dark hair and blue eyes. He stood outside a bookstore, leaning into the shade and out of the summer sun.

He watched people bustle like herded cattle, picking out raised voices, or one-sided cell phone conversations. Evaluating and classifying accents and languages. As a celebrated linguist with a doctorate in phonetics, Malcolm often did this for fun. He spoke over twenty languages, and traveled the globe, studying the delicate shifts and layers in dying tongues.

Currently, he was in the sweltering heat of Costa Rica, finishing research on the dialect of the Cabecar Indians, spoken by a mere four thousand people in this area of Central America.

"¡Señor!" Malcolm tore himself away from his thoughts, recognizing the voice of his guide, Braulio. "¡Alguien te quiere en San José!"

Ian Malcolm, Castiel's father, had been quite reluctant for him to come to Central America.

It was only now that Castiel wondered why.

"¿Quién?" He inquired cautiously. Braulio looks confused, shaking his head incredulously.

"Yo no lo puedo creer, pero me dijeron que eran de InGen."

* * *

"C'mon, Dean!" Paleoecologist Samuel Winchester argued with his brother Dean, a seasoned ethologist. "We are not staying any longer in this rainforest."

The elder Winchester kept his focus, ignoring his brother's pleas in the headset. He watched the give and pull of the jaguar's shoulder blades, shuddering with unnamable power beneath her black fur. She was beautiful, smart. She belonged to this jungle, like a cell in a vein that pumped through the body of the earth. They'd been tracking her for a week now, and Winchester had gotten all the information he needed for his thesis. Today was their last, and he'd taken an extra hour to observe another hunt.

Her prey was an old tapir, and Winchester watched, eyes cunning and green as the jungle around him, as she lurked in the cover of the foliage. She kept quiet, her strong legs tensing in anticipation of a pounce. She was intelligent; by far the smartest Winchester had come across. She took her time.

She was on the tapir in seconds, a calculated blur that sent Winchester's heart racing. She locked her jaws on the back of its neck, before purposely breaking it with a resounding snap.

"Dean." Samuel sighed. Dean took one more appraising glance, before gathering his supplies and heading back to the Jeep.

"Heading back, Sammy." He assured. "Be there in five."

Dean Winchester was a towering man, although short compared to his younger brother, who grew to an impressionable six 'five. The older Winchester, at six 'three, was a handsome man, fine features painted with graceful age at thirty five, four years his brother's senior. His hair had bleached blond in the Costa Rican sun, and it clung to his head in short sweaty spikes, a modern mockery of a uniform buzz cut. Freckles and sunburn settled high on his sharp cheekbones, and his shoulders stood broad and powerful, toned from lugging equipment and handling animals.

He had graduated from Yale with his doctorate in ethology and PhD in zoology at the age of twenty five. After being raised at a wildlife preserve his mothers ran in Africa, he'd developed a fascination with the behavior and habituality of large cats and other predators. He'd been offered a scholarship by his stepmother's old employer, a mysterious man he'd never met, who'd insisted he was a prodigy in the field. At seventeen, he was thrown into college, and he'd dedicated his life to the hunting behavior of carnivorous wildlife ever since.

His brother was equally clever, if not more, with his own doctorate in paleoecology, PhD in both paleobotany like their stepmother, and ornicology like their mother.

Sam finally came into sight, sitting impatiently in the jeep with a book in his lap. His hair, long and chestnut red in the wet sun, was pulled tightly out of his eyes to leave room for dark, androgynous sunglasses. While Dean and Sam were used to heat, the suffocating humidity was different from the dryness of the savanna. They hadn't yet taken fondly to Costa Rica outside of its jungle's fauna and flora, and Dean's dramatic groan as he threw himself into the jeep attested to that.

"Hey." Sam began intently, blind to his brother's obvious exhaustion. "Do you remember InGen?"

"Wasn't it the company Ellie worked for back in her twenties?" Dean humored as he started the jeep and pulled onto the trail.

"Yeah, but get this." Sam began excitedly. "It wasn't just a company. It was huge, influential. It spat out billions of dollars on preserves and parks all over the world. Then out of nowhere during the late eighties, it went quiet, completely off the map."

Dean grunted for him to continue.

"Then something happened off the Coast of Costa Rica, and they went bankrupt. Nobody knows what happened, even more than twenty years later."

Dean clenched his fingers tighter around the steering wheel. "But they paid our tuitions." He pointed out. Sam nodded, enthused.

"Exactly. They've been taking care of Ellie and mom and us for years. InGen may not be running anymore, but the Hammond family is old money."

"What're you getting at, Sammy?" Dean grumbled.

"Well, I just got a call. InGen wants to meet us in San José."

* * *

"Look, dad, I'm fine." Celeste Grant reassured into a satellite phone. "Costa Rica has the best hospitals in the world. Even though I doubt I'll get mortally wounded from setting up my babies, if I did, I'd be in good hands."

Gruff expletives rumbled over the phone. Celeste heaved a sigh, leaning against the cliff facing. Her inventions laid at her feet in a violet duffle. They were state of the art, miniature satellites, designed specifically for survivalists and research teams in the jungle to connect to the internet, report to a base, or contact nearby emergency care. Satellite phones weren't cutting it anymore, and that's where Celeste had come in. Easier, safer access that had already proved to save lives all over the planet. She had taken a chance to visit Costa Rica to help set them up in their most popular jungle, and had taken a field trip the last few days. Her father did not approve.

Twisting her brilliant red hair into a small ponytail to spare her neck the damp heat, she listened to her father rant.

"Look, Dad, I'll call you after I get back to the city. I'll be fine. I've been called up to San José by some company InGen who wants to buy my shit. I'll talk to you then. Love you." She said firmly, before hanging up in frustration.

She didn't even think her father had been to Costa Rica.

* * *

Bum bum bum! Four more chapters to post! Review! Love is appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

Gadreel Hammond was not a recognized relation to his Great Uncle. His father Metatron Hammond was, however, a noted CEO of a line of renowned zoos. He was one of John Hammond's many nephews, and was by far the most ambitious. He had used his inheritance safely, making sure to keep things manageable and controlled. Nothing eccentric.

Until now.

Gadreel waited, at a restaurant in the sprawling center of San José, for his father's Projects. With the restaurant bought out for the rest of the week, it was quiet. Silence was something Gadreel had not had for a very long time. He enjoyed it while he could.

"Hello?" Gadreel looked up from his tablet, hurriedly turning it off while he did. A redhead lingered in the doorway, looking tired, but curious. It was Dr Celeste Grant, the most successful woman in the field of computer science, and the owner and creator of QUEEN SATELLITES, which was rapidly becoming the most ingenious invention of the decade.

Gadreel stood up, fighting an impulsive urge to bow. "Dr Grant." He greeted, holding out a hand as they met each other beside the table Gadreel had chosen in anticipation of his guests. "I'm Gadreel Hammond. I hope your trip wasn't too taxing."

"Dr Grant is my father. I prefer Charlie." She said kindly, returning his shake with a firm grip. "And it was only a few hours in the rental. Totally fine, Mr Hammond."

Her features were hard and unusually pretty, and her red hair short and choppy. She wore cargo pants and a graphic T-shirt.

"I'm glad. And please, the informality goes both ways." Gadreel replied, pulling a chair out for her. Staff was already bustling around, laying out an array of appetizers, and the woman, obviously not yet used to her own wealth, much less the wealth of others, watched on with wide eyes as she gently set her bag in the chair beside her. "To drink, Charlie?"

She pondered for a self-conscious moment, before shyly requesting a strawberry margarita. "So, InGen. Thought they'd gone under years ago." She began, popping a blue corn tortilla chip into her mouth.

"All will be revealed in time, Charlie. We must wait for the Dr Winchesters and Malcolm before I can explain." He informed her politely. She nodded without complaint, seemingly distracted by the food.

Gadreel sat back in his own chair, pursing his lips.

An hour later, after Grant had beaten him twice in a game of cards, the doors to the restaurant opened again.

A dark haired man dressed in a suit and a tan trenchcoat stood in the decorated foyer, blue eyes latching onto Gadreel's with a sharp sense of cautionary confusion and curiosity.

"Gadreel Hammond. I was expecting your father."

"Metatron is busy. He sends his regards." Gadreel told him tensely, gesturing at the table of food. "As well as his apologies. Sit, please. Your flight must've exhausted you, Dr Malcolm."

"A bit, yes." The doctor conceded, taking the unoccupied seat beside Grant. He offered her his hand, and Gadreel wilted at the realization that he wouldn't do the same to him.

"Celeste Grant." Malcolm began, sounding fond. "It was because of you that I was able to complete my latest research. I sent a prayer of thanks in your name many times in the last month."

Grant blushed furiously, shaking his hand. "Thanks, Dr Malcolm, it was no problem." She stuttered, quite awestruck.

Gadreel smiled at the interaction, if a bit bitter, and offered Malcolm a drink as the two rattled on. He tapped his fingers against his tablet, waiting.

It didn't prove to be long.

"Fucking hell, Sammy, look at this place." A gruff voice called from the entrance. Gadreel was about to greet the Winchesters formally, only for Dr Grant to streak past him in a colorful blur.

"Dean, Sam!" She exclaimed with a bright smile, jumping into the shorter one's rippling arms. He laughed joyously, hefting her higher.

"Charlie!" The taller one grinned in surprise, slipping sunglasses from his eyes and clipping them on his T-shirt. "What're you doing here?" He asked, ruffling her hair with a giant hand when the shorter one refused to let her go.

"Got as good as an idea as I do." She informed them, slipping out of the shorter one's grasp. "But, Mr Hammond here," she waved him over with a soft smile. "Is representing InGen. He wants to talk to us and Dr Castiel Malcolm. Gadreel, these are my childhood friends, the Winchesters."

The shorter one shook his hand immediately, eyes meeting Gadreel's with a calculating green gaze that contradicted his earlier mannerisms. "Dean Winchester. You can call me Dean. This here's my brother Sammy." He continued, pulling away to slap a hand on the taller man's gargantuan shoulder. The other Winchester rolled his eyes and jerked away stubbornly, taking Gadreel's hand.

"Sam. Not Sammy." He corrected kindly, before pulling from Gadreel's grip with a clever, hazel gaze.

Dr Malcolm had also gotten up to greet them, and Gadreel stood back to allow them time to get acquainted.

"Dr Winchester." Malcolm said simply, the two of them sharing a tight, singular shake of their hands. "Your theories are part of the very few I've found myself believing in. Which, is hard for me as a son of a man who preaches Chaos."

Winchester's eyes grew wide, and it was obvious he was shocked. "Your work got me through college Spanish. How old were you then, twenty?" He teased, brushing off the other man's compliment. Gadreel was astonished to see Dr Malcolm blush.

"Nineteen, actually." He murmured humbly, and Dean clapped him on the shoulder with a great laugh, before moving on to grab a chair at the table. Sam swooped in with a charming grin, shaking Malcolm's hand with a more excited air about him.

"It's amazing to meet you, Dr Malcolm, I loved your books on Old English-," and the two quickly fell into a conversation Gadreel had trouble keeping up with.

He waited until everyone was seated and generally done with the refreshments, before speaking up again.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, you all must be very tired, and hungry at that." He began gingerly. The party quickly fell silent, and eight keen eyes landed on him with equal measures of cunning and wonder. He swallowed, and fisted his hands into his slacks beneath the table. "As you might know, InGen has had it ties with your families before. Alan Grant, Ian Malcolm, and Ellie Sattler-Campbell, all to whom you are directly related. Excusing Dean and Sam, who are related to Ellie only by marriage.

"My father has called this meeting today to make the four of you an offer similar to that of which our Uncle, the deceased John Hammond, had given your parents in the year of 1989."

"I thought InGen went bankrupt a couple years after that." Dean said seriously, arms crossed as he lent back in his chair. "Since when do you have the money to start making offers again?"

"Since my father began Heavenly Zoos and Preserves. I do believe he sponsors your mothers' in Africa." Gadreel reminded, not unkindly. He didn't want piss off his father's only hope.

"We thought that was the pay-off the offer had entailed." Sam said, eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

"All I know of InGen is that it paid for my father's leg surgeries after he was in an automobile accident involving a company car, as well as a similarly induced injury a few years afterward." Dr Malcolm shared skeptically, blue eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, my dad was in the first crash with Ian, and in another a few years after Malcolm's second incident. How are we ever supposed to trust you enough to buy what your selling after what InGen brought down on our parents?" Grant pointed out worriedly, scratching at the paint on the table.

"Because, Doctors, not only are your closest family members eagerly waiting for you on the paid resort on which we need you to inspect, we are funding the entirety of each of your projects for the next fifteen years."

Amidst the crashing of jilted silverware, the breaking of glass, and the four doctors' exuberant cursing, Gadreel heaved a private sigh of regret.


	3. Chapter 3

Dr Dean J. Winchester did not like helicopters. Or perhaps any kind of flying contraption Castiel Malcolm presumed, as he watched the younger man fall apart. Dean gripped the leather seat beneath him, intentionally boxed in by his brother and their family friend, as well as Castiel's growing acquaintance, Dr Celeste Grant.

Samuel pointedly ignored his brother and glared at his palms, and Celeste remained buried in a large book, eyebrows furrowed and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Dean, unbeknownst to his friends, was nearing the edge of a rage and fear induced hysteria, ducking his head between his knees, or slamming his skull into the padded headrest behind him, all while cursing under his breath. Castiel, just as livid, pondered over whether or not to offer him a vomit bag or some kind of distraction in a futile attempt to calm him down and shut him up. It was only causing Castiel to recall that his son was similarly bothered on flights, which had him seething on the edge of his seat.

"Dr Winchester." The both of them looked up, and Castiel spared Samuel a semi-apologetic look, before focusing pointedly on Dean. "We have a half-hour left, I suggest you try medication." The man looked at him, face pale. His eyes, however, roared with the kind of anger Castiel had only imagined in his childhood fantasies, the flaming green more at home in the sockets of a monster. "I have some cyclizine that always helps my son." Castiel said through gritted teeth.

The man was quiet for a moment, glaring at him, before slumping tiredly. "Why the hell not?" He mumbled, hands squeezing tightly over his knees.

Castiel quickly rummaged in his bag, pulling out a blue medical pack, which was covered in miscellaneous stickers Samandriel had added over the years.

"Here. Take two." Castiel advised, handing him the box of tablets. Winchester managed a weak smile, looking at the bag with amusement.

"How old is he?" He asked, and Castiel felt his lips lift. He didn't smile much, but his child was the exception.

"Six." Castiel said as he turned towards the window, frowning out at the choppy waves beneath them. "Do you have any?"

"Just a little brother." He growled, taking a swig from the water bottle Celeste had handed him after tossing back the pills.

Samuel pursed his lips nervously as he watched his brother shake with contained rage. "Our little brother, Kevin, he's about a year older. They said he was there." He announced softly.

"My girlfriend's there, too." Charlie huffed, obviously frayed.

"We would have heard something, if something had gone wrong." Castiel reassured them, feeling more as if he was merely reassuring himself.

Dean shook his head furiously as he handed back the drugs. "Still doesn't justify them kidnapping our fucking families. They may have buttered it up, but they resorted to some seriously fucked up shit to get us on this thing." He said ominously, and the four of them looked out the window at the approaching island, a sense of foreboding settling heavily over the chopper.  
-


End file.
